One More Candle
by PreciousJax
Summary: (Part 1/3) Everyone gets surprises on their birthday, only some are more special then others.
1. Part I

**O**NE **M**ORE **C**ANDLE 

**B**Y PRECIOUSJAX   
**E**MAIL: EVIL_PRINCESS_JACI@HOTMAIL.COM  
**A**RCHIVE: SURE, JUST SEND ME THE LINK.   
**R**ATING: R  
**P**ART 1 OUT OF 3 

**Authors Note: Hopefully this will finish off my preoccupation with Vaughn's mother so I can get back to 'An End To All Things' and 'A Mother's Daughter'. But in any case, when I wrote 'waiting a while' a couple weeks ago, I had a big debate over how I wanted to write Vaughn's mother. I try to make all my stories consistent, and even able to be linked if put to it. The family I've planned for Vaughn will always be what I've planned, but the personalities might change in this fic and this fic only. Call it AU if you'd like, but it's just the way I chose not to write Vaughn's mother previously. **

**A/N The Sequel: I started this fic about three weeks ago, then gave up on it. After reading the April fan fiction challange on http://www.creditdauphine.net I decided to adapt it to fit the challange. **

* * *

  
_Breath, hot and uneven, tore from his lips in ragged pants. His skin burned, thousands of tiny infernos wherever she touched. The sheets were cool and smooth beneath his back. They rolled, arms and legs entangled, bodies locked together. Over and over again they rolled, across the lake-like blue sheets. With their fingers laced, she straddled him, slithering down his body, flicking her tongue across his chest. His chest was heaving, fighting for control as she rose above him. _

_"Michael." She said in a breathy whisper, rising above him. Her hair, dark and damp with sweat, swung seductively at her breasts. He yearned to touch, fingers trembling with the need to feel her skin. He rolled, pushing her under him in one smooth motion, taking one rosy peak into his mouth. "Michael." The moan was louder this time, taking on an air of desperation. He nibbled lightly, her fingers locking in his hair as her back arched. _

_"Michael!" The voice had changed now, a heavy French accent slurring her moan. _

_"What?" He mumbled instinctively against her skin. _

_"Michael." She repeated, her eyes burned into his, molten gold with arousal. "Michael, wake up." _

"Michael, if you don't wake up this instant I swear to God I'm taking my pastries and driving to your sister's." 

Michael sat straight up in bed, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "What?" He looked around the room, eyes darting from wall to wall. "Huh? What?" He said, voice strained and slightly high pitched. 

"Good morning." Elisa Delorme Vaughn said soberly, perching herself on the corner of her son's bed. 

"Mom?" he squeaked. When he realization dawned and he was reassured that his house wasn't being stormed by SD6, he dropped back onto the bed, wrapping the pillow around his face. He swore profusely into he plain, white cotton. "What time is it?"

"A little before seven." She smiled sweetly. Michael swore again, but didn't bother to muffle it into his pillow this time. Elisa smacked his arm lightly. "Watch it. Next time, I won't bring you any of my petit fours." 

Michael cracked an eye open and dared to hope. "You've got petit fours? Like, as in, with you?" 

Elisa arched a brow. "It is your birthday, no?" When her son nearly knocked her to the ground in his mad scrambled out of bed, she took it philosophically with a small smile. It would have been stereotypically maternal to tell him not to run in the house. Just as it would have been to comment on the heaps of crumpled clothes overflowing from the closet in the corner. Leaving the subject of her son's lack of organization, disorder, and disgustingness and serenely followed his wake downstairs and into the kitchen. 

Michael ripped off the light blue cellophane that covered the plate of petit fours. The first bite was enough to make him weep. The second was reason enough to grab another one. He did a quick estimation of about how many pastries were on the plate and did some calculations. Michael took another bite and decided that he was going to have to run approximately forty-seven miles so that he didn't need to leave his house via crane tomorrow. 

" Je vous aime, Mama. Je vous aime très, beaucoup." He said as his mother emerged in the kitchen doorway. 

"Âne de baiser." Elisa said with a baleful glare. "You just want me to make you breakfast." 

Michael smiled boyishly and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, you know what they say about too much sugar on an empty stomach, Mom. You wouldn't want me to get sick, now would you?" 

"You eat too many pastries, you get sick, your own fault." Elisa said pleasantly. "I didn't raise a chauvinistic pig, though you might live like one. You're perfectly capable of making your own food."

"Capable, yes." Michael wheedled. "But why settle for my weak capabilities when the goddess of breakfast herself is standing in my kitchen. Not to mention it's my birthday."   
  
" The anniversary of my only son's birth." Elisa said with a snide smile. "Then maybe you should be making *me* breakfast. Twenty-seven hours of labor with you. Twenty seven hours of -" 

"Pure and undiluted hell." Michael mimicked, grinning. It was a speech he knew all too well. There was one tactic that had proved unfailing. He put on his sweetest smile. "I love you, Mom." 

Elisa narrowed her eyes and sighed. "Gosse." She murmured. "If I'm going to make you breakfast, the least you can do is supply me with coffee." 

Vaughn basked in the glow of his victory as he crossed the room and flipped on the coffee machine. Not being a morning person, he normally had it on a timer. But since he didn't normally roll out of bed for another twenty minutes, he decided that flipping a switch was a small price to pay for whatever his mother concocted for him. "Jésus, Michael. I think you have a new form of evolution occurring in your sink." He heard her mutter. It only made him smile. 

It also made him feel guilty. When he couldn't remember the last time he had given his mother a call, then the guilt was warranted. The fact that Elisa hadn't bitched about his lack of contact yet wasn't good. 

It was too late to change past, he reminded himself as he waited for coffee to fill the pot enough for a mug, but it couldn't be too hard to carve time out of his schedule to make a quick call once a week. He hoped. 

"Enfant, we are going to talk about your eating habits." Michael snapped back to reality and turned to his mother, who was standing at the counter beating ingredients in clear glass bowl with a wooden spoon. "Your refrigerator has molding pizza in it. You're not in college anymore." 

"I know, Mama. I just happen to like molding pizza. It's an acquired taste." Vaughn tapped his fingers on the counter lightly. "I'm going to go get dressed, then your coffee will be ready, then you can rip every aspect of my life to little tiny shreds." 

  



	2. Part II

A/N: As always, my immeasurable thanks go out to Jeanne (Angela Evans) for her fabulous beta bitch work. If not for her fabulous editing, I'd be writing like a four year old on a crack bender. I often forget to thank her in my author's notes, but I'm always indebted to her.  
  
A/N II: I always have these big debates over how I should refer to Michael Vaughn. When I switch off between the names between characters, its not a lack of continuance, I have an actual reason. I've decided that in scenes where we have Michael Vaughn in his personal life, then he'll be Michael. When he's at work, he'll be Vaughn. It shouldn't be to confusing, I don't think, but there are some real nitpicky reviewers out there these days, so I'm just preventing a unjustified nasty review later on. ((ahem))  
  
One More Candle  
  
Email: evil_princess_jaci@hotmail.com  
  
Archive: Sure, just send me a link  
  
Rating: R  
  
Part 2 of 3  
  
  
  
He felt a little ridiculous sending a plate full of petit fours through a metal detector, but considering the nation's justified preoccupation with security, even a plate of French pastries had the possibility of being a threat to national security. Vaughn was just waiting for security to question what was on top of the pastries, powdered sugar or anthrax.  
  
You always hear about people 'calling in favors' or whatnot. It's especially predominant in the CIA. It was a constant source of both pride and embarrassment that most of the favors that he could call in were obtained by plates of Delorme pastries. Vaughn figured with the half a plate he had left, Weiss would be running errands for him for no less then two weeks. That alone made the weird looks from the security guards worth it.  
  
He didn't mind sharing so much, especially now. All it took was Elisa to see the state of his refrigerator and she was freaking out about salmonella and swearing to bring him food more often. She, thankfully, missed the remnants of approximately six thousand boxes of take out in his trash. Vaughn figured the horror of thinking that he was actually eating the stuff in his fridge was going to be keeping him fed for the next month. If nothing else, it got him a really good breakfast.  
  
On the elevator ride to his floor, Vaughn did the intelligent thing. Quickly sitting his briefcase and the plate on the floor of the elevator car, he slipped off his rain-dampened jacket, and then picked up his belongings. After some strategic arrangement, the plate of pastries was safely out of view from the masses. Their safety and preservation was his utmost concern at the moment.  
  
As he stepped off the elevator and made his way across the room to his own office, more then a few people wished him a happy birthday as he walked by. Vaughn smiled and politely muttered thank-you to each of them, then quickly shut himself in his office.  
  
The door had barely clicked shut when it was flung open again. Weiss stood in the doorframe, glaring darkly. "Watcha have?" He snapped.  
  
"What do you mean, what do I have?" Vaughn asked, dropping his briefcase onto his desk.  
  
"Don't play coy, Vaughn. I know it's your birthday, just like I know you've got some sort of French delicacy made by your beautiful mother hidden under your jacket."  
  
Vaughn's eyes darted over Weiss's shoulder. "Shut up." He hissed. He gestured Weiss into the room. Weiss turned, checking behind him for eavesdroppers as he shut the door.  
  
Wordlessly, Vaughn drew his jacket off of his arm and set the plate of pastries on the center of the desk. "Is that…?" His voice was barely above a whisper.  
  
"The famed Delorme petit fours." Vaughn supplied. "Keep your damn mouth shut about these, and I'll give you some. Anyone else finds out I've got these, I'll have half the agency in here wanting a piece."  
  
Weiss snatched two off the plate, one for each hand. After one bite, he sank down into one of the two chairs across from Vaughn's desk. "Vaughn, I'm going to run away with your mother. We're going to move to Mexico and weave grass mats. She'll be Juana, I'll be Pedro. I just wanted you to know that."  
  
Vaughn grinned. "I thought you were moving to Italy as Antonio and Teresa to make wine and eat pasta?"  
  
Weiss made a vague hand gesture. "Whatever. I'm not particular. You get the idea." Weiss savored another bite. "I really hate you, though. My mother considered the four basic food groups to be Chinese take out, Italian take out, Mexican take out, and Ramen noodles. She made a mean bowl of Ramen noodles."  
  
"And you think me and my sisters just sat around and ate French cuisine all the time?" Vaughn shook his head. "Birthdays and major holidays. Christmas, Easter, and every third Thanksgiving, depending on whose year it was to cook. She was too busy kicking criminal ass in the courtroom to come home and make three course meals every night. Luckily for us, Megan could cook." Vaughn said, referring to his oldest sister. "If not, we'd have probably met in a pizza parlor rather then at Langley."  
  
"If you're not going to let me hit on your mom, you might as well point me in the direction of Megan. I know she's married and has kids and all, but I have no qualms about being a piece on the side."  
  
Vaughn rolled his eyes and ignored the comment. "Any word from Sydney?" He asked, mentally switching gears and pulling files from his briefcase.  
  
"Yeah." Weiss muttered, mouth full. "Got her dead drop last night. According to her report, she successfully switched the painting Sloane's got with the forgery we gave her."  
  
Vaughn nodded. "When's the meet set for?"  
  
"A Stairmaster in Sydney's gym is calling your name at nine thirty." Weiss smirked. "Better you then me, my friend. I always fall off of those things."  
  
Vaughn signed onto his computer, listening with half an ear to Weiss. "Hey, do me a favor and get me a cup of coffee." Vaughn asked as he wrote a quick email to the tech department.  
  
"Just because you got a promotion doesn't make me your bitch." Weiss sneered.  
  
Vaughn typed with one hand as he slid the plate of pastries towards him on the desk, now out of Weiss' reach. "Two sugars." He added.  
  
Within two seconds, Weiss was back in Vaughn's office, Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand. He pushed it into Vaughn's hand unceremoniously before turning back to shut the door behind him.  
  
Vaughn took a slow sip before gagging. "What *is* this? This coffee tastes horrible. I thought you knew the way I liked it. Now go get me a new cup and make it quick."  
  
"Quit your whining." Weiss muttered. "I'll buy you a new cup once we get out of here."  
  
"That's an hour from now. I want my coffee now."  
  
"Then lets go now. Let's work in the field today." Weiss suggested winningly.  
  
"In the field?" Vaughn asked. "What field? We have nothing to do in the field."  
  
"Damn it." Weiss snapped. "Quit asking questions and lets go." He tossed Vaughn's coat to him.  
  
Vaughn paused at Weiss's tone. "Who's out to kick your ass now?"  
  
"Caroline in CTU found out about Lisa in Explosives. And vice versa."  
  
"Weiss." Vaughn threw up his hands. "How many times are you going to break agency policy on interoffice dating. And how many times are you going to cheat on someone in the office with someone else in the office? How much paste *did* you eat when you were in preschool?"  
  
"No time." Weiss pushed Vaughn's briefcase at him and grabbed the plate of pastries. "Get your crap and let's go. I'll meet you in my car."  
  
It took Vaughn a moment to react. "We're *not* taking your car." He said, but it was already too late. Weiss had already escaped, pastries in hand.  
  
Vaughn detoured by his locker, grabbing the gym bag inside. Dreading what he knew was awaiting him, he took the elevator down to the ground level parking garage.  
  
If there was one thing that Weiss never seemed to understand, it was the idea of being subtle. His car pretty much epitomized this character flaw. If intelligence agents of the US government were meant to drive glossy red Neon's with zebra printed seat covers, then God wouldn't have made Buick's. But, since Weiss had missed out on that particular lesson, Vaughn was relegated to sitting in obvious uncomfort in Weiss passenger seat listening to annoying pop music.  
  
The windshield wipers swished back and forth silently, wiping away the sheets of rain that fell over Los Angeles. The drought that had settled over the West had ended in a dramatic fashion with four days of continuous rain, soaking the roads and causing flashfloods all over the state. The multimillionaires of the area now had to be concerned with whether or not their homes would still be sitting in the same place when they got home, or whether their overpriced homes were now going to become apart of Pacific Ocean floor.  
  
Other then his immense hate of being wet, the fact that it was raining on his birthday, and Weiss singing along with a Britney Spears song… Vaughn considered the day to be going pretty well.  
  
"How the hell do you manage to get two chicks in general, no less at once?" Vaughn finally asked. "What do any of them see in you?"  
  
Weiss smirked. "None of them can resist me. I'm just so damn sexy; they're starting a cult in my honor. I can't help it."  
  
"I'm onto you, Weiss. The only question here is, how are you getting Ecstasy into their drinks?"  
  
They ate their pastries in the Weiss Mobile, driving aimlessly through the rain like high school kids cutting classes. Vaughn could think of a thousand lectures to give Weiss, but decided to leave it to Devlin. Talking about it would more then likely lead to Weiss mentioning some horribly sickening little detail of his sex life that would have Vaughn jumping from a moving car. The less he knew, the better.  
  
Weiss pulled up to the curb outside the health center, shortly after a quick stop at a gas station where Vaughn made use of the bathroom to change into loose athletic shorts, a tee shirt, and a hooded nylon jacket. "Okay, just find something to do for twenty minutes. If you forget to pick me up, and I have to walk back to the office, you're never meeting my mother." Vaughn threatened, grabbing the gym bag off the floor under his feet. He'd already emptied all its contents, sparse as they might be, into Weiss's backseat.  
  
Vaughn climbed out of the car and jogged through the rain to the double doors of the health club Sydney frequented. Vaughn knew Sydney preferred running outdoors in the fresh air, but dusted off her health club membership when the weather got bad.  
  
He flashed the carefully doctored club ID at the man sitting by the front door, barely pausing as he walked into the cardiovascular room. Vaughn spotted Sydney immediately and just as immediately hated his job. Only a vicious and spiteful God would force him to maintain professional detachment with a woman wearing impossibly tiny blue shorts on a Stairmaster. Hell, he decided rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, didn't look quite so bad right now.  
  
Vaughn crossed the room to stand next to the Stairmaster on Sydney's left. He tossed his bag in the space between the two machines, followed by his jacket. Stepping cautiously onto the machine, Vaughn glanced up to the TV mounted on the ceiling in front of him. CNN would hopefully keep his eyes from wandering to places and body parts they shouldn't be.  
  
"Fabulous weather we're having." Sydney started, slightly short of breath as she continued her workout.  
  
"We needed it." Vaughn stated simply. He hated Stairmasters. He could never do them without feeling vaguely retarded.  
  
"Yeah, I know." Sydney laughed lightly. "But rain puts me to sleep. All I wanted to do this morning was curl back up under my covers and sleep for roughly eight days."  
  
With the images of Sydney in those miniscule shorts now seared into his retinas and the thought of her in bed, Vaughn could name one person who'd be getting very little sleep that night. He cleared his throat lightly. "I bet the weather in Cancun was just great, though."  
  
"Sunny and a pleasant eighty two." She sighed. "If I wasn't being shot at, it might have been fun."  
  
"Yeah, that does put a damper on the whole vacation scenery." Vaughn forced his voice to remain concerned, but detached. "You alright?"  
  
"Nothing a little Bristow-style ass kicking couldn't solve." Sydney smiled. "It's all in your report, Vaughn. What's up next?"  
  
Vaughn relayed her next mission quickly, keeping his voice light. Sydney nodded, asking questions as they went along. "Okay, I'm heading to the café." She said, stepping off the Stairmaster with a huff of breath. She picked up the bag Vaughn had brought. "I'll read over this and dead drop any questions I might have."  
  
"Okay." Vaughn agreed, continuing on the cursed machine. "We'll meet again when we have more details."  
  
"I'm looking forward to it." Sydney said. "Later."  
  
Vaughn nodded his goodbye and watched as she exited, long legs crossing the room in quick strides.  
  
"Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts." Vaughn muttered to himself, shaking his head with self-amusement.  
  
Vaughn stepped for five more minutes before stepping off. He slipped on his jacket then picked up the matching black bag Sydney had left behind. He slipped the strap over his shoulder and walked out in the opposite direction.  
  
The constant rain had reduced itself to a trickling drizzle, but Vaughn stood under the overhang of the neighboring building waiting for Weiss. Only five minutes late, surprisingly early for Weiss, the Neon pulled up next to the curb. Vaughn made it to the car, barely getting wet, and slipping in with a scowl. "Can we *please* go back to the office now?" Vaughn asked. "Without you being maimed by angry assistants and the women you cheated on them with?"  
  
Weiss shrugged. "Probably. If nothing else, I'll keep some Petit Fours on me as a emergency peacekeeping weapon." Weiss pulled away from the curb as Vaughn unzipped the gym bag.  
  
Inside, the expected files and computer disks were safely tucked inside a folder. Sitting on top of the folder was a bright yellow envelop. Vaughn pulled it out and slipped the card out of the unsealed envelope.  
  
  
  
'Here comes the Birthday Fairy Again' the front said in a blue bubble. Vaughn furrowed his brow and flipped open to the inside. ' Too bad it's not the "Great Big Huge Raise, Promotion and Two Extra Weeks of Vacation" Fairy.'  
  
  
  
"What's that?" Weiss asked.  
  
"A card from Sydney." Vaughn murmured. "I didn't even tell her it was my birthday."  
  
"Well, she *is* a spy, you know." Weiss said innocently. "And as big as a secret as your birthday is, I'm sure she's got more info on you then that."  
  
Vaughn ignored him as he read the neat and exact printing.  
  
  
  
'I got you the promotion, the rest you'll have to work on yourself. Happy Birthday. –SAB'  
  
  


End file.
